We just spent three days in Rome, where we saw tan people in aviator sunglasses and leather jackets in the Colosseum, tan people in aviator sunglasses and leather jackets on Palatine Hill, and the part of the Trevi fountain visible between all the tan people in aviator sunglasses and leather jackets.
Also we went to the Vatican and had lunch with the Pope. He let me wear the hat. Turns out it shows you who’s going to Hell. (Sorry, Oprah.)
Now we’re on a commuter train out to the port of Citavicchia. Our original plan had been to head north to Milan and then make our way by train across the south of France to Spain. But it turns out that would be a colossal pain in the ass and that it would be just as easy to get to Spain from Nice by flying home to Pittsburgh then catching a bus.
So instead we’re skipping our return to France altogether and taking an overnight ferry from Italy to Barcelona. Two months ago the thought of missing out on the south of France would’ve seemed crazy to both of us. But after 10+ weeks of travel, we are very willing to flash our lights at France so it’ll pull over at the Roy Rogers and get the fuck out of our way so we can get some paella. So we opted for spending €70 to relax in an en suite cabin across the Mediterranean.
The only catch is that the boat leaves in a few hours and we don’t actually have tickets yet. We know when it leaves and how much it costs and that they supposedly sell tickets at the port — which is way off in the dingy outskirts of Rome. So we’re headed out there in the dark and hoping for the best. Tomorrow we’ll either wake up in Spain or in a tent made of pizza boxes. I’ll let you know.